


Chad

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: The RK900 scans clues.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	Chad

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Gavin stretches his arms high above his head, peeking over the rim of the RK900’s computer terminal. There’s the telltale release of breath that Gavin makes when he’s not _really_ exhausted, but he wants his desk-partner to think he is, as though any of his late night escapades could possibly justify being too tired to walk to the break room. The RK900 knows exactly what his human counterpart wants. But that human will have to serve himself, because as often as the RK900 breaks and brings Gavin coffee, this won’t be one of those times. He’s pouring through a rapid stream of data both on the computer and in his mind, and he’s just had a breakthrough.

Several of the victims in the latest string of related kidnappings left unlocked phones or laptops or even tablets around their apartments, and the same app has come up on three of them—both installed and recently used. The RK900 hones in on that lead, doubling back on the other two missing human males for matching proclivities. Gavin finally drops his arms, glaring heavily over their twin monitors. The RK900 ignores it, like he so often has to. As much attention as he often pays his detective, now isn’t the time. Gavin wrinkles his scarred nose like the RK900 should _always_ make time for him. When it becomes clear that no one’s going to play his maid, Gavin loudly climbs out of his chair and stomps off for the break room. The RK900 lets him go, preferring to find more conclusive evidence before he brings his theory forward.

Just as Gavin’s disappeared around the corner, the RK900 confirms it—every missing man has shows a documented sexual interest in other men. There’s a split second where the RK900 registers the rest of the precinct in his peripherals—his predecessor has more experience in human relations than he does. But Connor and Detective Anderson are both missing from their desks, likely busy with their own case. The RK900 makes the executive decision to do his own research—he searches the app on his browser, bringing up their website. 

It has all the same features as the mobile version. Free, uncensored access to thousands of human homosexuals in the Detroit area. He swipes through them as fast as the computer will allow it, mentally noting each user bearing even a slight resemblance to the victims. 

Then he comes across a profile picture of a man with his shirt rolled all the way up and caught between his teeth, so that his entire abdomen is exposed, right down to his low-riding khakis and the trail of dark brown hair that disappears beneath it. He’s fairly muscular, white-skinned but tanned, glistening with sweat from either a recent workout or the sort of thing the app is meant for—a human function that wasn’t included in the RK900’s original program but Connor seems to have mastered just fine. The man’s holding his phone in front of his face, clearly taking the picture in the mirror, but the RK900 knows from the few brown strands that have fallen against his forehead exactly who it is. The bone structure, the curves of the inner ears, the stubble, even the scratch on his cheek all fit. There’s a large, decade-old gash across his left breast that the RK900 never knew was there. It slants just over a pebbled red-brown nipple, as hard as the other one. The hips are thrust forward, highlight a bulge that the RK900 instantly analyzes and extrapolates on. It gives him a decent picture of what lies below what little clothes there are. The RK900 hesitates for the first time in his life, finger ready to swipe either to the next profile or to this user’s gallery. There isn’t much written for the description, and the name is composed of the same generic innuendos as most of them. But the RK900 already knows everything about this individual.

Or at least, he thought he did. He knows how Gavin Reed got the scars on his face, but not the one on his chest, or if it makes his left breast any more or less sensitive to touch than the right one. He thought Gavin was a bafflingly unique human being, but it turns out he has the same sort of cliché pictures as every other horny man on the app. 

The RK900’s not mad about it. Simply surprised. His algorithms produce a clear answer to his conundrum: of course he should continue scanning other users. Predicting the next victim could save a life.

But the RK900 has become an individual in his own right, and he chooses to reroute his processing to a ‘personal enquiry’ rather than the professional one. He clicks the little arrow that beckons Gavin’s second picture.

This one is taken over Gavin’s shoulder. He’s lying in bed, face down on the mattress, back sloped and ass high in the air, boxers pushed down so low that the RK900 can see the luscious curves of his plump cheeks. Again, there’s no visible face, but the RK900 recognizes Gavin’s apartment and knows there’s no mistake. The RK900 leans forward, eyes going wide to take in as much data as possible, to scan and log every little pixel of Gavin Reed’s nearly-naked form.

A choking noise splutters behind him. The RK900 leans back in his chair, taking in his surroundings—he actually dedicated so much processing power to digital-Gavin that he didn’t register the real one approaching. He didn’t even know that was possible. He’s supposed to be the most advanced model CyberLife ever created. No butt should be able to short-circuit him, even one so apparently glorious as Gavin’s. 

Gavin has his coffee in his hand and his eyes on the screen. He’s come around the RK900’s desk and seems to be having trouble swallowing, but the RK900 deduces that he doesn’t require medical assistance—merely water and a few minutes to recover. Before that’s finished, Gavin lurches forward and hits the little ‘x’ on the RK900’s web page, erasing his own image from the screen. 

It’s still in RK900’s head. He does a quick check with his morality subroutines and decides that as Gavin already released it on a public platform, the RK900 isn’t violating any rules by keeping it in memory. Hand still on the desk and leaning over the RK900 like a short but formidable threat, Gavin asks, “What the _hell_ , tin can!”

Across the bullpen, Tina looks over. She’ll probably continue looking over, because Gavin looks strangely enthralling when his cheeks are flushed red. Nevertheless, the RK900 lowers his voice appropriately when he answers, “While I pass no judgment on your personal decisions, I advise caution with this one, detective. It appears several of our victims regularly perused this site.”

Gavin’s blush fans hotter. The RK900 can actually feel the heat radiating off his face. He grunts, “Oh,” but then throws a quick glance across the office and hisses, “Look, I don’t use it, okay? I just... someone must’ve found my photos, and...” He trails off. Perhaps he’s realized that the RK900 is quite adept in detecting lies. At least he doesn’t insult the RK900’s intelligence by pretending the pictures aren’t him. 

He’s thoroughly embarrassed. The RK900’s learned enough of human behaviour—of _Gavin’s_ behaviour—to determine that much. He reasons, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re an adult human male with needs, and the pictures themselves show nothing humiliating—you have a very conventionally attractive body.”

Gavin frowns, and something flitters through his eyes, maybe confusion. He opens his mouth, closes it, then manages a small, begrudging, “Thanks.” He seems to wait for the RK900 to say more, but the RK900 doesn’t. He’s busy gauging Gavin’s curious reaction. Then Gavin stiffly straightens out and wanders back around to his desk, plopping down and taking another swig of coffee. 

The RK900 finishes assimilating all this new Gavin-data. Then he runs a few quick pre-constructions of what could be done with this knowledge. 

He settles on a quiet suggestion: “However... if you must satiate those needs outside of your own hand, it might me safer to experiment with someone you know, rather than a stranger on a public website.”

Gavin nearly spits his coffee out again. His eyes shoot up, piercing into the RK900. He doesn’t repeat: _Someone I know?_ But it looks like he wants to. The RK900 doesn’t specify: _Perhaps a co-worker._ But he believes Gavin’s intelligent enough to pick up on the implication.

But that’s a discussion for another time. One where Gavin’s had time to assimilate his own new data: that his partner knows what he’s interested in and stared at it long enough to show interest back. The RK900 can already see the proverbial wheels in Gavin’s brain turning. 

In the meantime, he remains professional and continues studying the case, while he files away Gavin’s pictures for ‘safe keeping’.


End file.
